


Lucatiel in Lordran

by SirKai



Category: Dark Souls
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirKai/pseuds/SirKai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucatiel, a decorated knight from a far off land, finds herself dragged through a strange portal by a bizarre creature. She makes her way through an unknown world and stumbles upon a very <i>suspect</i> individual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucatiel in Lordran

**Author's Note:**

> Request fill for vereorumbasa and coltaire on Tumblr!

The forest, in spite of the threatening beasts and haunted statues, boasted a kind of serene appeal. The gently falling leaves and the golden sunset represented a pleasantry that Lucatiel hadn't been familiar with in quite some time. Where she _was_ exactly was still a mystery, but the knight held some confidence that her well honed swordsmanship would still circumvent near any danger.

She strolled past the thickness of the woods and descended into a small clearing. The clearing was cut through by a ravine with a massive man made structure looming from the other side. Lucatiel paused to observe it from its vine-infested bottom to its decrepit heights. The stone building was round and tall, and decorated with an array of ornate columns. Perhaps a theatre, or a colloseum? It was but a short walk across a small stone bridge that linked the two sides of the ravine.

On one side of the bridge was a figure, leaning casually against the earthy wall its arms folded. A flickering set of candles rested near their feet, alongside a filled rucksack and satchel.

Lucatiel kept her hand gripped on the hilt of her sword as she approached the figure. A long, tattered coat trailed past their knees and a black top hat adorned their head. Their face was obscured by a mask which donned a pale, disturbing grin.

"Good evening," the man greeted. His voice was muffled slightly, and his head barely moved to acknowledge Lucatiel.

Crossed arms, unusual hat, and a demented mask? Lucatiel felt like she was staring into a warped mirror. "And to you as well," she replied. An air of trepidation carried her voice. She still rested her hand on her sword's hilt.

"Quite a get up you've got there. An odd choice for indulging in a round a monster slaying, am I wrong?" the man asked. His voice was quiet, and each word felt articulated and icy. His tone reminded Lucatiel of some deceitful aristocrat.

"And who are you to comment on the habits of a lady? His _Lordship_ is sporting clothing no less strange," she smarmed, resting her posture on her heel.

"Forgive me. I'm afraid the curse must have claimed my manners as well as my livelihood."

So he's afflicted too? A dangerous thing to admit to a stranger, Lucatiel thought.

“I admit I was caught off guard a bit, and _hardly_ in my best attire. It was a funny thing you see-” The masked man made a series of animated gestures with his hands as his story unfolded. “A writhing, slithering appendage burst from air as thin as what’s tween you and I, and dragged me here. It was quite a _dark_ experience if I do say so, and given that you seem to be no native of this land yourself, am I to presume you’re here under similar circumstances?”

“One could say such,” Lucatiel conceited. “And that would hardly be the only coincidence.”

“Ahh _hahaha_. Well noted,” the man complimented. He lightly grasped at his mask's cheek at he spoke. “These seem to be something of a trend these days, hehe.”

“I fear I’ve lost a grasp on exactly what days these are.”

“They’re well before the time of your land. Mine as well no doubt.”

“That is rather a queer theory. You would claim the dark hand that snatched us here transcends _time?_ ”

“It is as strong an explanation as any,” Chester said. He unfolded his arms and smoothly withdrew a lengthy crossbow bolt from his leggings. The gloved hands worked a piece of jagged stone across the bolt’s pointed head to sharpen it. “Maybe we’re in some Abyss lurker’s memory; some recreation of the past as it is recalled. Maybe we’ve descended into the next layer of undeath. And that is assuming if we are as real to each other as we’d obviously like to believe.”

“You’ve a potent mind, considering the circumstances.”

“No use fretting over this world anymore than the previous one I belonged to. Lone strangers trapped in dangerous lands rife with madness, armed with nothing but our sharpened blades and quick wits?” The man twirled the bolt shaft through his fingers and slid it back its place along his tall boots. “The scenery dressing makes little difference.”

“We’re of one mind about that, I suppose.” Lucatiel said.

“It’s quite a necessity as I’ve gathered. Only the cynical and the deranged maintain their wits for long in such places. Though I can’t help but find myself entranced a bit with _this_ setting,” the man admitted with a softened voice. His head surveyed the green surrounding as he talked. “In the age of grand knights and fearful dragons, at the precipice of madness where the Abyss swells and consumes all in its path, and the events are punctuated by quite a _colorful_ cast of legends. Though guests such as yourself and I are not accounted for, hahaha.”

Lucatiel shivered slightly at the man’s shrill chuckle.

“The heralded knights of Gwyn- well, most of them anyway- and Oolacile’s long forgotten piece of royalty? The stories were truly no match for the actual history. Mostly all botched up and ill recorded in fact.”

“Well that is a tragedy I’m most sorry to hear of.” Lucatiel’s words were dry and monotone. She folded her arms in impatience, now matching her company.

“Ahh such mocking wit. I can’t say I don’t appreciate it from time to time, but even an individual as callous and jaded as you must admit there’s some splendor in sharing a land with the great _Abysswalker Artorias._ ”

Lucatiel stared at him for a moment, and offered a meager shrug.

“No-”

The Mirrah knight continued her berating body language, now sighing and rolling her eyes. What a man of trying patience, she thought.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve never heard of Oolacile? What of Gwyn? Or his lordship’s four regal knights? Does the most famous of them all, _Artorias_ , mean nothing to you?”

“Those names are all as foreign to me as you are.”

The man glanced down towards his feet and crossed his arms again. “My my my,” he muttered. “You truly must be from a world _far_ removed from here, or even from mine. How delightfully curious, _hehehe-_ ”

“You would find this situation amusing?” Lucatiel interrupted. Motivated partly by her ever thinning patience, but mostly just to cut off that intolerable snickering.

“Are you joking? This is wonderous. Such boundless possibilities are so exciting. We might next find ourselves on the doorstep to New Londo itself, well before it was sealed to such a... murky fate. But I suppose you wouldn't know of _that_ either, would you?”

“No, I would not.”

“And you’re not the least inclined to share what you do know? I can’t even begin to imagine the time and place that you would call home.”

“The land I parted from was isolated, forgotten, fraught with pitiful creatures, and laden with a history of evil and depravity. I’m sure that paints a vivid enough image.”

“Hmm, a bit lacking in the details though don’t you think?” the man sassed.

“Aimless as I am, I still have a more appealing agenda to see to.” Lucatiel swiftly turned on her heel towards the bridge to cross the ravine. She spoke her parting words facing away from the stranger. “Fortune be to your meandering and your pondering.”

“If you insist. The curse has a mind of its own though, and I’m sure this is not the last we’ll see of each other, heheheh.”

Lucatiel halted on the spot to glance at the masked man one more time before resuming her stroll, hand still resting on her sword.

The masked stranger watched her from his spot as she crossed the ravine, and he began sharpening another crossbow bolt.


End file.
